


i don't wanna fall (fall away)

by dandeliondun



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, M/M, TOPFL Halloween Challenge, TOPFL October Challenge, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandeliondun/pseuds/dandeliondun
Summary: Tyler's eyes used to shine like the sun, expressive, alive. His smile would split his face, dimples cratering his cheeks. His voice would bring a crowd to life, commanding, demanding attention. He'd twirl a curl of his hair around his finger when he was nervous, wrinkle his nose when he was confused, scratch his elbow when he lied. Josh used to read him like a book.Now all that remained of that book were the beaten and bruised outside covers, the torn, shredded pages within stained with bloody ink, splatters and smears hiding away the delicate scrawl of lettering underneath, intangible, unreadable, forgotten.





	i don't wanna fall (fall away)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my head since last Halloween, and I'm so excited to finally be sharing it. I found my inspiration from Fall Away. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

"Josh, you need to let him go."

Josh looked up from cleaning his gun, blinking in surprise at the sudden voice. From the corner of his eye, he saw the short but built figure of Mark hovering in the doorway. He paused before looking down at the smudged coffee table in front of him; a spring of the sofa he sat on poked his back.

In the den, the furniture was ripped and torn but usable; Josh often sat on the sad, sagging couch to contemplate how things had come to this, how things had fallen so far, so quickly, to chaos. He'd look at the dirty, glass coffee table and see the reflection man who once had goals, a man with a naive, beaming smile and dreams of starting a band with his best friend, dreams of sharing their music and taking over the world together, a man who missed his drums, missed his siblings, missed his parents, missed his _stupid_ minimum-wage job at Guitar Center. He'd see tired, sunken eyes and permanently downturned lips and scraggly facial hair and features hardened from months of fighting for survival, fighting for a chance to make it just one more day and all for what? He saw a man who'd lost everything he'd ever wanted: his smile, his dream, and his best friend.

He stared at the table for a long while before cocking his gun and standing up from the couch.

"No."

"Josh—"

"I said, _no_ ," Josh hissed, voice dark and dangerous. Mark eyed the man's fist, white-knuckling the handle of his pistol, and then his expression, hard and bitter with downcast eyes. Mark shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, swiping a piece of short, dirty-blond hair away from his eyes and licking his lips.

"Josh, we..." His voice broke into a whisper. "We don't even know if he's still in there, man."

Without looking up, Josh raised his gun and fired at the wall next to Mark's face; the sound echoed around the sad, empty room, and the air seemed to drop to an icy chill. Frozen in place, Mark said nothing. The color had drained from his face, leaving nothing but a pale complexion and wide, shocked eyes. Josh kept his face down, but his eyes were undeniably cold when he finally raised his head. Holstering his gun, he picked up a tray of food that had been sitting on the table in front of him and walked towards the door, stopping in front of Mark and looking him dead in the eye.

"Say that again, and next time, I won't miss."

There was rumbling from the staircase: the sound of frantic, descending footsteps. "What happened?! I heard gunfire." Michael reached the landing with a fearful expression. Mark had yet to move. "Nothing," Josh answered, turning to face him, his voice remarkably calm for a man who'd just shot at one of his closest friends. "I'm going to see Tyler."

Josh pushed past Mark, who'd just begun to breathe again and made his way to the basement door, closing it behind him.

"Mark?" The man's head snapped toward Michael, who was eying him carefully, noting his pale complexion and sick features. His voice was confused and frightened; Mark felt similar emotions pumping throughout his bloodstream.

Mark wasn't stupid; he knew what the loss of a loved one could do to someone, hell, he'd lost a friend too. His chest still ached every time he thought of the melodious giggle and cheeky smirk that used to grace his presence every day, but every frantic denial and refusal that spewed from Josh's mouth just made his chest throb more. It had taken him a long time after the incident to get over the loss of his friend, but that had been months ago. Every time _his_ name fell from between Josh's lips, the way he said it with such hope, such determination, like the name that once belonged still did, felt like a tug on the stitches of the wound he felt sure had healed

He could understand. He could be rational and mature like Michael. He knew what they'd had was different. The friendship Josh had lost, the friendship that had always been something a bit more than friendship, whether the two of them acknowledged it or not, whether they were aware what the shy smiles and hushed reassurances really meant. Mark wondered if that'd only made it harder on Josh to accept the truth, the reality sitting in front of him, or more accurately, the reality slumped in the basement cellar, rotting away like a forgotten piece of a candy.

The shell of a man, an empty vessel, a barren husk, numb, vacant, desolate.

Dead.

* * *

The keys on Josh's belt loop jingled, the sound echoing off of the walls of the cellar as he walked down the steps. He stopped in front of a bolted door, balancing the plate of food in his left hand while he unlocked the door with the other. Stuffing his keys in his back pocket, Josh unbolted the door; it creaked loudly as he pushed it open.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the now opened door. It was dank and smelled sour like there was something decaying inside.

There was.

"Hey, bud," Josh said in a soft voice, smiling weakly at the figure hunched in the corner of the cell. "I brought you your rations."

The man's right hand was chained to the wall, just enough slack for him to move around, but not enough to reach the door. His wrist was rubbed raw from the tug of the chain, dried blood cracking on the bracelet. He didn't look up.

Josh walked over to the other side of the cell, turning on the small lantern that resided there. It flickered; its fluorescent, yellow lighting gave the small room an eerie glow.

"How are you feeling, Ty?" Josh asked, walking closer and sitting down on the floor. The ceiling was leaking down here too, and Josh cringed when he sat down in a puddle, but he said nothing, waiting for a response.

Finally, the man raised his head.

"Cold," he said.

His complexion was a sickly green, the usual flushed color of his face reduced to a pale yellow. The flesh on his neck was peeling, like much of his usually smooth skin; The skin of his right cheek was corroded away, leaving his jaw and back teeth fully exposed. His eyes were dull like muddy water, and his hair looked greasy, clumps of it scattering the cellar floor around him. As soon as he spoke, he coughed violently. Lolling his head to the side, he spat out a tooth, two teeth, three. He wore nothing but a tattered, torn t-shirt and a stained, dirty pair of sweatpants.

"I hear that," Josh laughed humorlessly. "That's December for you."

Tyler's eyes used to shine like the sun, expressive, alive. His smile would split his face, dimples cratering his cheeks. His voice would bring a crowd to life, commanding, demanding attention. He'd twirl a curl of his hair around his finger when he was nervous, wrinkle his nose when he was confused, scratch his elbow when he lied. Josh used to read him like a book.

Now all that remained of that book were the beaten and bruised outside covers, the torn, shredded pages within stained with bloody ink, splatters and smears hiding away the delicate scrawl of lettering underneath, intangible, unreadable, forgotten.

Josh shuffled closer, pushing forward the plate of food he had brought with him. Tyler's nose jerked; a chunk of it had fallen off about a week ago.

He suddenly lunged forward, snarling, drool and spittle spilling from the corners of his mouth. The man was yanked back when the chain became taut, cutting into his wrist. Josh, expecting this, didn't even flinch as Tyler hissed violently, swiping in his direction with his free hand.

Josh sighed, shuffling away and letting the other man's nose pick up on the smell of the food instead of him. "It's your favorite," he mumbled quietly, watching Tyler's expression relax from its curling snarl. His hissing lowered in volume, and he sniffed the air. Growling under his breath, he clawed at the plate until it was within eating distance.

Josh watched with no emotion as Tyler gripped the piece of steak in his brittle hands and tore a chunk out of the red meat viciously. He barely chewed it, tilting his head back and choking the steak down before quickly returning and gnawing violently at the meat once more.

Josh glanced at Tyler, examining the oozing wound on his arm. It looked like he'd been scratching at it again, dried blood caking the junction between his neck and left shoulder. 32 square bruises in the shape of a human mouth painted his shoulder a deep violet color; Josh tried not to think about how that bite had ruined Tyler's life, along with his.

"The bite is, uh, looking pretty bad," Josh said quietly, clearing his throat. Tyler didn't look up, ripping the flesh off his meal and slurping messily.

Tyler chewed noisily, his hands and face covered in blood. He only ate red meat now; he wouldn't touch anything else. Josh made sure to cook it as rare as he could.

Tyler used to chew that loud all the time. He would do it to bother Josh on purpose, laughing with food in his mouth while Josh wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

"Dude, the food tastes better if you chew it loudly," Tyler had explained, making Josh shove him with a laugh.

"It does not."

But Tyler would simply munch his burger louder, and Josh would just stick his tongue out.

This was back before the epidemic, back before all the madness and sickness and chaos. Josh could barely remember a time before taking shifts on who kept watch, before needing to search for any morsel of food.

Luckily, they'd found an abandoned farm somewhere in the heart of Ohio. That'd been six months ago, right after Tyler had been bitten. The farm had been a blessing, all of them gaining their our rooms in the farmhouse and a place to store their supplies, along with a safe shelter from the undead and the elements. Without it, Josh doubted they'd have survived for much more time, doubted Tyler would have been able to hold on to his sanity for so long.

With the farm came the farmhouse, came the barn, came the chicken wire fence, but most important of all, came the option of isolation.

At first, Tyler ignored the bite. It never happened; it didn't exist. Josh was happy to play along. Why worry when there was nothing to worry about? Then, one day, Tyler anxiously began reassuring them he was fine, that nothing was happening and the bite would go away like any old wound. He'd be okay. No need to worry. "I'm fine," he'd insist. "I-it doesn't even hurt." Once again, Josh jumped on his bandwagon. Nothing would take away their future. Nothing. He was sure of it.

But as time went on, Tyler started to change. The disease ravaged his body in a cruel and torturous way. He began to bruise easily, his complexion always a sickly pale, and his eyes sunken deep in his sockets. His skin went first, peeling and coming off in small chunks. Josh remembered watching Tyler walk, watching the way his skin broke up and fell apart, falling away behind him, leaving a trail of dying flesh. 

He claimed it never hurt, that it felt like shedding a second skin, but, suddenly, Josh was worried, always worried.

Next went his motor skills. He would stumble along behind everyone, limping though there was no injury. He could barely hunt after that, his muscles decaying to nothingness, leaving him a husk of brittle bones and corroding flesh. 

Then came the outbursts.

Tyler would have random eruptions of violence, usually after smelling blood or meat, sometimes just sweat. He would lunge and snarl, his pupils swelling to consume the whole of his iris. Josh once watched him sink his teeth into a squirrel and tear it open while it was still alive, squealing and writhing. 

Tyler would claim he felt fine after settling down, but everyone could see him holding back, see him straining against what they all knew was hidden under the surface. Tyler was good with self-control; after years of fighting against his own mind, against his dark and shameful thoughts, against his unrelenting depression, it was almost habit.

But it was hard to keep control with his brain decaying to pudding. 

There were times he could feel it, feel it _strong_. The Pull: the ever-present pull just begging him to take a chunk out of Michael's neck, to tear Mark limb from limb, to devour his friends one by one. The Pull pointedly ignored Josh for a long time, like it knew Tyler was nowhere near far enough along to kill his best friend. Not yet. Not quite desperate enough.

Despite its preferred victims, The Pull still tugged Tyler's mind to places he never wished to revisit. The idea of his friends finding out what would flash behind his eyelids when he closed them, the blood, the sheer destruction, terrified him to his core.

The Pull was relentless, merciless, unyielding. In moments of weakness, Tyler struggled to fight against the persuading whisper in his head. _Just a bite_ , it said. _Just a bite, just a chunk, just an arm, just a leg, just the body, just the head!_ It would scream, scream, scream, and Tyler would cry, cry, cry. _Kill!_ it hissed _. Kill, kill, kill!_

Tyler would sit alone, cradling his head in his brittle fingers, eyes wide and fearful. "Shut up!" he'd beg. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" He'd scream until his throat was raw, and then he'd scream more. His fingernails dug into his temples, and he'd pull and pull and pull at his hair until it came out in bloody clumps. He'd bang his skull against the wall over and over until his liquifying brain couldn't take it anymore.

The constant headache behind Tyler's eyes pounded so fiercely sometimes that he would lose vision, lose any sense of being alive he had left.

Eventually, Tyler had trouble distinguishing between The Pull and his own thoughts. His conscience began to wear thin; the whispers in his head began spewing from his own mouth as he stared darkly at the nape of Mark's neck. 

"Just a bite," he said. "Just a bite."

From his bed in the house, Josh could hear Tyler cry at night, hear the cries turn to whimpers, hear to whimpers turn to snarls. The man insisted that he be restrained. They tried tying him to a tree; he chewed through his rope. They tried chaining him to a fence post; he ripped it from the ground. Mark once woke to the rattling of Tyler yanking so viciously on his chains he dislocated his arm. 

He clawed at his makeshift cast the next day.

At first, Tyler quarantined himself in the barn. He'd hide out in the hayloft and slink from his spot when his friends left him his rations. He always waited until they were out of earshot to go near the food; he didn't want them to hear him tear into the meat like a rabid dog.

His friends, however, seemed unaware of how far sound traveled in the barn; Tyler could hear the yelling, arguing, fighting from his space in the hayloft. 

"Josh, this is ridiculous! All you're doing is prolonging his suffering!"

"I'm saving his damn life is what I'm doing! You're just going to give up and kill him! There might be a cure out there; we don't know!" 

"You're being selfish! He's dying!"

"Call me selfish one more time— _call me selfish one more time, Mark!_ " 

"Angry," Tyler muttered to himself, hitting his head against the wall of the barn as the yelling continued. "Angry. Mark. Tyler. Selfish. Hurt. Friends. Josh. Friend. Josh. Friend." His ability to form full sentences had long diminished.

Tyler "slipped" off the hayloft that night, and a pitchfork went clean through his torso.

They'd found him the next morning. 

Josh had watched, a sick feeling in his stomach, as Tyler sat up, glancing around with an expression laced with confusion. With a small look of realization that quickly fell into his usual blank look of morbid despair, Tyler had pulled the pitchfork from his chest, letting it clatter to the ground next to him. He'd taken no notice to the chunk of corroding flesh that came out with it.

Tyler had got to his feet and blinked bleary-eyed at the hole in his stomach before climbing back up to the hayloft, trailing blood as he staggered up the ladder.

"I was wrong," Mark had muttered. "He's not dying; he's already dead."

Josh announced they would be moving Tyler to the cellar under the house the next morning at breakfast. When Mark opened his mouth to object, Josh gave him a sickly sweet smile.

"Try to stop me. Seriously, go ahead and try."

Nobody moved. Mark closed his mouth.

"That's what I thought."

When Josh left the room with a cold expression and stalked up the stairs to his designated room, Michael only let out his sigh after hearing the door slam shut. "This is getting out of hand," he muttered, and Mark let out a scoff.

"Y'think?"

When Mark first met Josh, it'd been through Tyler's introduction. Tyler had raved about his newfound best friend for weeks before he finally set up the meeting. Mark would watch the way his eyes sparkled while he gushed about how Josh killed it on the drums, how he was such an amazing musician and was going to be a fantastic addition to their band. He'd shrugged along with Michael while he fiddled with his camera. "He sounds like a cool dude, Tyler," Mark grunted.

When they finally met, Mark was pleasantly surprised to find that Josh was friendly and kind. Not that he didn't trust Tyler's judgment, but the guy tended to exaggerate. Josh was a social butterfly, which Mark found strange, considering Tyler was a natural born introvert yet seemed to come alive in Josh's presence. He and Michael were like background noise when Josh was around, and Mark found it a little frustrating. They were part of the band too, why was Josh suddenly the favorite?

Though Mark was around Josh nearly every day, during band rehearsals, nights out, or nights in, it was only ever around Tyler. He and Josh got along fine, but Tyler held them all together, like the glue of a mosaic, tying together separate pieces to form something beautiful. When he expressed his annoyance to Michael, the man just shook his head with a smile.

"I've never seen Tyler this happy, man," he said, watching Josh and Tyler bicker back and forth during a game of Mario Kart from his spot in the kitchen. "He's always been kind of a loner, y'know? I guess he just needed the right person to bring him out of his shell. That person can't always be you, Mark."

Michael had gone to high school with Tyler; he'd been friends with Tyler longer than both Mark and Josh yet didn't seem to mind the fact that Tyler was immeasurably closer with Josh. Michael was the oldest of the four of them, the metaphorical dad of the group. He was stout and burly, with a rounded face and kind eyes. He liked to tell embarrassing stories about Tyler's childhood years making his groan in shame while Josh and Mark would howl with laughter.

Mark opened his mouth to retort before a shriek interrupted his thoughts. They turned to see Tyler on the couch, squealing and kicking his feet with laughter while Josh tickled him with a playful grin.

"A little handsy for best friends," Mark grumbled, making Michael roll his eyes.

"It's not your business," Michael sighed, leaning against the counter and watching with a small smile as Josh yelped when Tyler turned the tables and launched for an attack. "What's it matter to you what they define their relationship as? It's not like it affects you."

"It could affect the band," Mark argued, but Michael just raised his eyebrows and gave him a look. "What! It's true."

"Uh huh, sure," Michael sighed, rolling his eyes. "Whatever helps you sleep at night." Mark clenched his fists and his jaw ticked. He kept his mouth shut.

He was always keeping his mouth shut, always biting his tongue, swallowing his comments before they could feel their way to his lips. Not anymore.

Michael blinked at him from across the table in the farmhouse kitchen. His once kind eyes had grown less kind over time, hardened and dulled after the infection broke out. The bullet hole in the wall behind him was black and charred, still minutes fresh. Mark stared at it. "We're ending this one way or another," he said coldly. "Even if that means ending it with a bullet to Tyler's brain.

* * *

Two weeks after shooting at Mark, Josh walked down the stairs and into the den, where Mark and Michael were discussing rations and supplies quietly. "I'm taking Tyler for a walk," he announced, breaking the two men from their conversation.

Michael and Mark exchanged looks. Neither of them was a fan of Josh bringing Tyler out on his "walks." Michael rubbed his brow with a sigh, but it was Mark who broke the silence. He was done holding his tongue."Josh—"

"Oh, would one of you like to do it? Or should I _remind_ you that he almost tore a chunk out of your _neck_ the last time we kept him down there for this long?" Josh's tone sounded nonchalant, but there was a venomous edge licking at each word. "I guess we should just, y'know, let him forget that you're still his friends considering I'm the only one who actually bothers to _visit_ him or, oh, I don't know, _feed him_ every once in a while." Mark stared at the wall with a clenched jaw. The words that had sat so confidently on the tip of his tongue were suddenly gone. Michael audibly swallowed, staring at his feet, but Josh wasn't finished. "Though, bearing in mind the fact that you're both plotting to kill him, I guess I wouldn't find that very _friend-like_ either. Since neither of you believes he's actually in there still, maybe the next time he pulls on his leash my hands might just _slip_. We'll see who he still thinks of as a _friend_ then."

Josh spat out the word 'friend' like it was poison. When the two men sitting in the living room stayed silent, he scoffed.

"What a joke."

Mark grit his teeth. 

Grabbing the muzzle and chain hanging on the doorframe, Josh strode to the door leading to the cellar and pushed it open. His footsteps echoed in the eerie stairwell, and the keys to Tyler's door jingled in his belt.

He could hear Tyler shuffling inside his cell when he reached the landing and cracked a weak smile. He was always more present the day after eating.

"Mornin', Ty," Josh announced as he pushed the door open. There was a garbled noise of recognition from the body slumped against the wall, and Josh shook the leash and muzzle in his hand with a smile. "You up for a walk?"

After Tyler's first week in the cellar, Josh had learned that bringing Tyler outside helped him get out some of his... _urges_ on wildlife. If he was walked regularly enough, they could avoid sudden fits of unbridled violence and lower the risk of any of them being injured by their sick friend.

If Josh had been told a year ago that at any point in time he'd have to muzzle his best friend to keep him from killing someone, he'd have laughed in the face of whoever had supplied the prediction. "You're insane," Josh would've guffawed, doubling over. "Tyler couldn't hurt anybody unless they threatened someone he cared about."

Tyler was fierce. He was loud and brash and passionate. Strong, determined, stubborn, goofy, protective, loyal. He was careful and careless at the same time. Outgoing and reserved. Honest and secretive. An open book and an enigma. A walking oxymoron, a personified juxtaposition. It was something Josh had always loved about him.

"How can you stand to be around me?" Tyler would ponder to him on those late nights. "Hmm?" Josh would hum back, questioning. "You call me a breathing contradiction. Doesn't it get tiring? Dealing with that? Dealing with me?"

"No," Josh would answer, no pause, no hesitation. "Means I'll never be bored" 

They'd lie on Josh's raggedy couch, feet adjacent to the other's head, and stare at the dull, beige ceiling. Tyler hated that ceiling; Josh hated it too. "If your landlord didn't have a cactus up his ass, we could paint that ceiling," Tyler used to say. "Something loud."

Josh would laugh. "Loud?"

"Yeah, man," Tyler would nod, completely serious. "Loud. Bold. Like... I don't know, red. Yeah, red. Can't you see it?" He'd stick his hand in the air, palm flat, parallel to the ceiling, wiggling his fingers like the blood in his veins could seep from his fingertips and drown the white desert above them in a brilliant scarlet.

"What about... blue?" Josh murmured one night. Tyler shuffled, sitting up.

"Blue?"

"Yeah, like... the night sky just after the sun's set. Navy blue, midnight blue." Tyler stared at Josh who was watching the ceiling in thought. Slouching once more, Tyler rested his head on the couch pillow and imagined the twinkling of dying stars above them, the moon hanging among the shimmering specks of glitter.

"Yeah," Tyler whispered, closing his eyes. "Blue would be nice."

The first week after the infection broke out found the pair camping under the cover of trees. With only two sleeping bags Michael and Mark took one while Tyler and Josh took the other. That night was Mark's turn to keep watch.

They'd left for their journey on Tyler's birthday, the first of December. With a van packed full to the brim, they'd set out on their own mini-tour of the state, hoping to spread the name of their band.

No one could have predicted the outbreak.

It was the first night they'd spent without the comfort of their van. Without gas, the van sat discarded on the side of the road, abandoned miles ago, along with their instruments and gear. They took only what they could carry in their backpacks. Wrapped tightly in his Winter coat, Josh had patted his drum kit with a watery smile, making Mark roll his eyes while he rubbed his arms for heat, but when no one was looking, he'd planted a kiss on his camera and thumbed sadly at the lens. Tyler had given one last longing look to his electric keyboard, and then they continued following the highway on foot.

Tyler could hear Michael snoring in his sleeping bag and could feel Josh's body shift next to his with every breath. A shiver rolled up his spine when he was hit with a gust of chilly, night wind, and he snuggled further into the sleeping bag to cover the crimson tips of his ears. They were supposed to be getting as much rest as possible, but Tyler couldn't sleep. They'd set up camp in a clearing among the thick forest of trees that night, and the open sky was laid out above them for him to marvel at, basking in the moonlight through the flutter of stray leaves.

"Josh," he whispered, nudging the other man. They'd been back to back when Tyler rolled to stare at the sky. His shoulder was digging into Josh's spine. Josh made a sleepy sound in the back of his throat. "Josh, look," Tyler tried again, making the other man moan in annoyance.

"Go back to sleep, Ty," Josh gruffed, rubbing his cold nose with his arms held tight to his chest. Though he was grumpy, the cold coaxed him to shuffle closer to Tyler and his body heat anyway. Their legs were tangled together in the sleeping bag, hidden from view, a secret for only them to share. If anyone were to have asked, they'd have said it was to conserve body heat.

"But look, Josh, the sky," Tyler murmured, holding his hand out to the heavens like he used to do back on that raggedy couch in that boring apartment. The wind bristled the hair on his arm, and goosebumps stood to attention across his skin.

Josh turned his head and blinked blearily at Tyler's hand and then looked to the sky.

"Beats any apartment ceiling on the planet, huh?"

Josh stared in wonderment at the vast expanse of sky above them. He flopped onto his back at the same time Tyler turned on his side, his chest pressing against the muscle lining Josh's shoulder. Josh watched a sleepy, blissful smile blossom on Tyler's face before he burrowed his head under Josh's chin, warming his nose in the fabric of his hoodie. His legs bent and straddled Josh's hip, arms coming to rest across his chest. "That's a midnight blue if I've ever seen it," Tyler mumbled. The hair on the top of his head tickled Josh's neck.

Josh felt frozen, the steady weight of Tyler's head pressuring down on his ribs; he feared the other man could hear the pounding of his heart hitch. "Hey," Tyler whispered. Josh forced out a strangled, "Hmm?" and Tyler shifted, pulling Josh's arm out from its cramped position tucked into his side until it was out and wrapped around his lithe shoulders.

"As crazy and messed up as this situation is, I'm glad I'm here. With you," he mumbled out. Josh wished he could see his eyelashes flutter drowsily, see the dopey smile on his face.

While Tyler drifted off into sleep, lulled by Josh's heartbeat and the steady rise and fall of his chest, Josh willed himself to relax. He'd been sleeping mere minutes ago, why was he suddenly so awake?

Tyler let out a gentle chuff into his chest, nuzzling the soft, worn cotton of his hoodie.

Oh, he thought. That's why.

They'd taken turns being the shoulder to cry on, to scream into. One week Josh would be falling apart, tears pouring from his eyes as he begged Tyler to tell him why this had happened. What had they done? He'd sob. What had they done to deserve this? Everything they'd ever wanted, ever worked for, had been snatched from them, like water slipping through their fingers. Their band, their music, their dreams, taken from them, stolen right in front of their very eyes in an instant. What had they done to deserve such a fate? What had anybody done?

Other times Tyler would ask him why they kept going, why they kept fighting. What was there left to fight for? They had each other; Josh would reassure. They would fight for each other. Survive for each other. Those days Josh would watch Tyler eye the gun holstered at his hip with a curious expression. He dared not call it longing.

Those nights, the nights Tyler's depression would become too much, nights where he would quiver so violently from fear that Josh could feel the trembling against his skin, he would curl up with his best friend and cradle him gently to his chest. "Josh," Tyler would whimper, fingers scrabbling against his torn sweater. But Josh would only hush him quietly, rocking him in a calming motion until his shaking stopped. "No matter what, I'll always be your best friend, Tyler, through thick and thin. I will always be there with you," Josh would soothe.

"B-but—"

"You'll be okay, Tyler. We'll be okay," Josh would interrupt, kissing Tyler's temple lightly. "It'll all be okay in the end."

"Hey," Michael said one day, catching Josh's attention. They'd been walking for weeks; a compass they'd found said they were heading East. "How do you two do it?"

"What?"

"How do you two, you know, stay sane?"

Josh stopped walking and paused, his boots crunching against the gravel. They were following a highway, a sign a while back said it was I-70. Tyler and Mark were walking ahead. Michael stopped beside him when he looked to the sky, squinting at the sun then closing his eyes. The cold air bit his skin and left a bittersweet sting on his cheeks. "Easy," Josh answered, his eyes still closed. "We keep each other sane."

That night, while Michael kept watch, he watched the way Tyler and Josh slept, curled into each other, their bodies a tangle of limbs within the sleeping bag, their faces calm and content. He listened to the rustle of the barren tree branches swaying in the icy wind, staring at the sky. He thought of his girlfriend. He'd kissed her goodbye with promises of a swift return. When the four of them had clambered into the beat up minivan housing all they would need for their adventure, excited and ready to share their music, their dreams, their love, none of them had any idea that would be the last time they'd be seeing their families, friends, loved ones.

The next morning, when Tyler and Josh snuggled close under a shared blanket, shivering in the early morning chill of February and huddled around the campfire Mark had prepared, Michael swallowed down the jealousy that rose like bile in his throat.

* * *

Six months into their journey, Summer hit. Spring had been hard with all the rain; they'd slept in low-hanging trees to keep off of the muddy, soft earth. But nothing prepared them for the hot, muggy, Ohio Summer. The air settled on top of them like a damp towel, sinking heavily in their lungs and against their flesh. Tyler's skin tanned as Josh's burned. While Tyler shucked off his shirt and stuffed it in his bag, Josh was forced to keep his on, preferring to endure the damp smelliness of his t-shirt than more of the peeling, burning, red skin already peppering his neck and arms.

Tyler watched with a frown as Josh repeatedly scratched at his irritated skin then winced in pain when he was reminded of his burns. He hated that he could do nothing to help. Josh would starfish on his stomach atop the slick outside of his sleeping bag in their shared tent—they'd raided an abandoned camp and found it along with another tent, which Mark and Michael claimed, medical supplies and extra food. Josh squirmed in discomfort from the heat and the burns, and Tyler wished he could tuck Josh to his chest and make his pain stop, but every time he brushed against the seared flesh Josh would hiss in pain and flinch away.

They reached a small town. When they reached the town center, little shops with peeling signs and broken windows peppered the storefronts. Tyler's face broke into a grin. "I'm gonna go look for supplies," he said excitedly before jogging off toward one of the buildings. "Tyler!" Josh hissed, making him come to a halt.

"What?" he huffed, turning around. Impatient as ever.

"We don't even know what's out here! Zombies, people, rabid animals, anything! You can't just run off!"

Josh watched a blush bloom on Tyler's cheeks. He smiled sheepishly. "Right, sorry," he giggled, embarrassed, as he hurried back to the other three. Josh looped an arm around his waist, hugging him tight against his body. "Don't run off like that, man. God, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

"S-sorry," Tyler apologized again, pushing his face into Josh's neck.

Mark and Michael exchanged glances.

"Either way we should still look for supplies," Mark pointed out, checking the ammunition in his pistol. "In pairs or as a full group?" he asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

"Pairs," Tyler and Josh said at the same time, and Michael snorted. "Why do you even bother asking anymore," he questioned Mark, an amused expression lacing his features. Mark scowled at him. "Because maybe there's a tiny chance I won't be stuck with your ugly ass while the lovebirds go make out," he huffed, a sour look on his face. Michael broke into peals of bellowing laughter at that. It wasn't even that funny, but once he started, he couldn't stop. He knew this was the first time he'd laughed in over two months and would probably be the last for a long while.

Over the course of their journey, neither Mark nor Michael had been oblivious to the growing closeness between Tyler and Josh. They were inseparable even more so after society's collapse. When they'd whisper to each other, giggling like school children gossiping about crushes, Mark had to bite back snarls.

Why did they get to be so happy and carefree while the rest of the world suffered? Why did they get to share in their own little world while he and Michael were forced to stand on the sidelines and endure the harsh reality with everybody else? Sometimes, Mark wished he could pop their imaginary rose-colored bubble and yell at them to sober up, to take a look around. The world was falling apart, for God's sake! They didn't get to be so carefree; they weren't _allowed_ to be happy.

While Michael ignored the green beast of jealousy inside of him, Mark was consumed by his own. It gripped him in its suffocating hold and refused to let go. He'd watch them laugh and smile with a sneer on his face. He wanted that. He wanted that badly.

If Tyler was aware of Mark's sudden coldness, he blatantly ignored it. Josh, on the other hand, was not so tolerant. He would feel the bitterness rolling off of Mark in waves while he'd sit with his arm tucked tightly around Tyler's shoulders.

They'd never been very close to begin with, but the increasing tension between the two of them damaged the relationship that might have been had they really learned to work together in the band.

"Ha, ha, _ha_ ," Josh drawled sarcastically in response to Mark's comment. He was sick and tired of the label _lovebirds_ spat out like a cheap insult. "You're a riot, Mark."

"Be quiet, Josh," Mark said.

"No. You know what? I'm not gonna stand here and let you talk about us like you know _anything_ —"

"Josh," Tyler whispered, voice cautious. Josh paused. Michael had stopped laughing; Mark was deadly still, his eyes frantically flicking back and forth. His hand hovered over his pistol. The air felt suspended in time. A leaf skittered across the street in front of them.

An arrow came spiraling toward Josh's face from a dark alleyway. It skimmed the bridge of his nose leaving a clean laceration then penetrated the brick wall to his right. A single drop of blood slid down his cheek.

"Run," Michael said. There was a howling of voices from the rooftops, alleys, stores, _everywhere_. It was an ambush. Groups of bandits often inhabited small towns, creating one, giant, deadly trap by hiding away to lure unsuspecting travelers in and then killing them and snatching their supplies.

And they'd walked right into one.

Another arrow flew from the top of a drugstore. " _Run!_ " Michael screamed.

Josh grabbed Tyler's hand, and they ran. "Where are we going?" Mark yelled, ducking under another oncoming arrow.

"Away from here!" Josh yelled back. As they ran through the streets of the town a barrage of arrows followed them. One missed Tyler's shoulder by a hair. With adrenaline flooding his system Josh focused on the pounding of his heart and the steady weight of Tyler's hand in his palm.

"There!" Michael took off to their left. There was an opening, a gate out of the town. Mark let out a cry and tilted when an arrow grazed the back of his neck. "Mark!" Tyler cried, slowing his pace. Josh's hand kept him from slipping, and he yanked Tyler back to his side. "Keep... running!" Josh panted out.

"But Mark—"

"I'm fine!" Mark gasped out from behind them. "Keep going! We're almost there!"

Michael tore through the gate and kept running. They kept running until they reached the tree line, long after the arrows had stopped following them.

"Stop," Tyler wheezed out, pulling on Josh's hand. "St-stop, I need to... I need..." His foot caught on a branch and he tumbled to the dirt, gasping for breath.

Josh came to a stop so quickly he nearly broke his nose running into a tree. "Tyler!" he panted, stumbling back to the other man before falling to his knees, his legs jello beneath him. He landed on his hands and knees, wheezing harshly. With a puff he turned to his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. His other hand blindly groped the ground until he found Tyler's hand. He linked their fingers and squeezed in relieve. Tyler squeezed back.

"That..." Mark made his way back to the pair, leaning on a tree for support and panting. "was too close." He caught sight of Tyler and Josh's conjoined hands and tried to ignore the painful twist in his chest when he thought back to his slip up. He didn't doubt for a second that, had he really fallen, Josh would've left him and kept Tyler from stopping to help. The realization hurt more than the ache of his heaving lungs. Michael trailed behind him, breathing heavily.

Tyler struggled to his feet, wincing at the scrapes on his knees and chin. He wiped away the dirt and hissed at the burn of his abraded skin.

And then he saw Josh.

"Josh!" he cried out, crawling over with his heart in his throat. "Oh God, oh _God_."

"I'm fine," Josh huffed, his chest heaving. "I'm okay." Something was tugging against the flesh of his side.

"Josh." Michael's voice was a whisper laced with panic. "Don't. Move."

"Wh—?" Josh struggled to sit up, but Tyler made a frantic sound, pushing down on his shoulder to prevent movement. Josh's head banged back on the ground, and he glared bleary eye at Tyler's chin, which was badly scraped and covered in dirt. "Dude, what the hell? Let me go."

Tyler didn't even look at him, his eyes, wide with fear, were staring numbly at something else. His fingers were trembling against Josh's shoulder. "Uh, Josh...," Mark started, hesitant, taking a small step toward him with his arms out in front of him, cautious, nervous. Confused, Josh followed Tyler's gaze and...

Oh.

"Don't freak out, but..."

There, lodged deep into his side, was an arrow. The arrowhead itself wasn't visible, buried into his flesh. "Oh," he said out loud.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, Tyler was the one to freak out. "No," he said, voice quiet. He shook his head violently. "No, no. This isn't happening. No. You can't—You're not—I'm hallucinating. No. _No_."

"Tyler," Josh said, trying to push out his most calming voice. "Tyler, look at me."

"No. God, _no!_ You can't die; I-I won't let you! You can't... you can't leave me here. You said... you said everything would be okay, and now... now you're leaving me here, you're abandoning me! I can't lose you, Josh, I can't-I can't—I-I can't _breathe_ , I—"

"Tyler," Josh said, stern, controlled. He cupped Tyler's face above him and pulled him to look into his eyes. Tyler's toffee colored irises looked frantic, desperate, devastated. "You can't do this to me," he babbled. A tear slid down his jaw and splashed on Josh's eyebrow. "Please, _please_ , don't do this."

"Hey!" Josh barked. Tyler's lips snapped shut. From upside down, Josh watched his bottom lip tremble, and he let out a pathetic hiccup, squeezing his eyes shut. Gently, softly, like Tyler was as delicate as glass, Josh coaxed him to bent over. Their foreheads pressed together.

"You're not going to lose me, Tyler. Do you hear me? You. Are not. Going. To lose me." There was a wet sniffle from above him, and Josh opened his eyes. Tyler was hunched over the ground, his forehead still resting against Josh's with his eyes squeezed shut. His hands rested on either side of Josh's head, clenching the wet grass and pulling at it in an anxious haze. His face distorted into a traumatized expression as he sniffled.

"What do I always say, huh? C'mon, tell me," Josh soothed, his thumbs rubbing Tyler's cheekbones gently.

"You say that—y-you say that I-I'll be—"

"You'll be okay."

"An-and w-w-we'll-we'll—"

"We'll be okay."

"A-a-and—"

Josh gave him a soft smile, pressing his lips to Tyler's tear-stained cheeks.

"It'll all be okay in the end."

Michael and Tyler helped Josh to his feet, who was now acutely aware of the searing, splicing pain in his side after each ragged inhale and exhale. Tyler was breathing out whimpering apologies under his breath every time Josh's face contorted with pain. Mark stated he would find a place to camp. His voice was laced with ice.

They set up camp just as the sun began to set. They had yet to remove the arrow in Josh's torso because they needed to be quick about bandaging him up. Michael said it didn't look like it had pierced any internal organs, and Tyler let out a relieved cry. He was still trembling with adrenaline, his fingers shivering violently, so Mark and Michael said it would be best if he didn't help stitch up the wound.

"Let me do something," he begged. "I can't just sit here and watch."

"He'll need to be... held down," Mark said awkwardly. "It's not exactly gonna feel like a walk in the park."

"Okay," Tyler said, voice wavering. "Okay, I can do that."

When they were ready, Mark and Michael were perched at Josh's side, bandages, antiseptic, and needle and thread in hand. Tyler held Josh's head softly in his lap as he sat on his knees. He ran gentle fingers through his unruly curls while the other man gripped his forearms, letting out shaky breaths and gritting his teeth.

"Ready?"

Josh let out a choked, humorless laugh. "No."

"On three," Michael announced, taking hold of the arrow shaft. "One..."

Josh's fingernails dug into Tyler's arms. He let out a little whimper. Tyler shushed him in a nurturing voice, cradling his chin in the crease of his elbow to keep him from watching.

"Don't look," he mumbled. "Look up here, Josh. Isn't the sunset beautiful?"

"Two..."

Josh let out ragged, uneven puffs of breath, his heart racing. "Ty-LER!" His voice leaped into a broken howl when Michael yanked the arrow from his body without saying three.

A spurt of blood waterfalled from the open wound when Josh kicked his legs out with a yell. "Now, Mark," Michael hurried, holding Josh's legs at the knees to keep him from up. Mark quickly uncapped the antiseptic and poured it into Josh's cut, wincing when he let out a loud scream.

"Tyler!" he sobbed, clawing at the man's biceps. "Make them stop, m-make them—"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Tyler tried to soothe, struggling to keep the panic from his voice. He couldn't break down right now; it was Josh's turn. He had to be strong. He had to be strong. "It'll be okay. Breathe, baby. I know it hurts, I know. I'm sorry."

Both Mark and Michael pointedly ignored Tyler's slip of the tongue. They both doubted he actually realized what he'd just said.

Josh's eyes rolled back, and for a brief moment Tyler felt relieved he might pass out, but Josh just continued to cry, wailing when Michael pierced his skin with the needle.

"Josh, Josh, it's like you're getting a tattoo, yeah?" Tyler said, desperate to stop the other man's painful sobs. "You told me you wanted a tattoo, remember? What did you want it of, Josh? Tell me again. Can you do that?"

"A-a-a tree," Josh gasped out, clenching his teeth and yelling when Michael pricked him again. "S-sunset."

"That's right, I remember now. A tree up on a hill with a sunset in the back. Look up at the sunset, Josh. That's what you're getting inked into your skin right now. It'll look so beautiful, Josh. Just a little more."

Josh's cries died down into meek whimpers as Tyler whispered to him quietly, carding his fingers through his hair and brushing away his tears while blinking back his own.

"I'm done," Michael announced after a few minutes, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His fingers were caked in blood. With Josh's wound stitched up, Mark began to wrap his torso in bandages. Josh hissed each time he wrapped it tighter, and Tyler hushed him soothingly, humming to him a calming tune.

Tyler, Mark, and Michael sat around the crackling fire afterward. Josh was sleeping in his and Tyler's shared tent. They were running low on food, medical supplies, everything, and they all knew it. It was going explicitly overlooked at the moment. "We'll have to watch him for infections," Michael said. Tyler hummed, watching the fire bob and weave. The wood popped loudly, and a stray spark singed a leaf.

"We have to go back," he said.

Mark and Michael were silent.

"We only have enough food for another week, and hunting isn't reliable enough when it's this hot. We'll need new bandages and gauze as well as pain meds for Josh. We need extra supplies in general too; we're dipping into our backups."

"Tyler—"

"Look, you know it's true," Tyler sighed, exasperated. "We can't make it to another town in less than a week with Josh in his condition. We need to go back."

When neither of the other men said anything, Tyler stood. "I'm going back."

"Absolutely not."

All of them turned to see Josh at the opening flap of his tent, holding his side with a pained expression and leaning his weight on the flimsy tent. Tyler rushed over, tucking himself under Josh's arm and supporting him.

"How are you supposed to get better when you're constantly moving around?" Tyler huffed, clearly irritated.

"You're not going back, Tyler. It's too dangerous," Josh explained, ignoring his question. "You'll get yourself killed."

"We need the supplies."

"Fine, then I'm going with you."

Tyler scoffed. "You must be joking. You're in no condition. If anything you'll slow me down."

Josh flinched. It was a low blow, and all of them knew it, but Tyler needed Josh here, where he knew he was safe. Josh turned to look at him; his eyes held fear. "I have to do this for you," Tyler explained.

"You don't owe me anything. Don't do this."

"This isn't a debate. I'm going whether you want me to or not."

Josh's eyes flashed with hurt, and his bottom lip drew up. He pulled his arm away from Tyler's shoulder and hobbled back into the tent, yanking the flap shut behind him.

"Dick move, Tyler," Mark said. Tyler sneered at him in response. "Shut the hell up, Mark. You don't know shit," he scoffed. He ignored the throbbing ache in his chest when he replayed the look on Josh's face in his mind. Tyler cleared his throat. "Unless you two have any better ideas, I'm going back to the town. I'm the skinniest and the quietest. I'll sneak in and out in a heartbeat. Easy peasy."

"I'll come with you," Michael insisted. Tyler shook his head. "No offense, but you're the heaviest set out of all of us. I need to be able to sneak through alleys and doorways unnoticed. I have to go alone."

When nightfall finally came, Tyler grabbed his bag, emptying it swiftly. He kept nothing but his gun and spare ammunition.

"I don't like this," Mark breathed out shakily.

"There's no other way," Tyler said, cocking his pistol. "Look after Josh," he whispered, fighting to steady his voice. He walked to his tent and hesitated outside. "I'm leaving now, Josh." His voice was most definitely not steady. There was silence then a quiet sniffle.

"Don't go," Josh's voice sounded small. He'd been crying.

"That's not an option."

"Please."

Tyler swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. He wanted to beg Josh to come outside and give him a hug, explain this could be the last time they'd ever see each other. This was not an "easy peasy" task; the risk of him losing his life was terrifyingly large. "Josh, I—"

"Just go."

Tyler's words were sucked from his throat. He swallowed down the pathetic mewl that threatened to escape from his lips. From inside the tent, he heard a quiet, "You better come back, or I'll kick your ass."

With a watery smile, Tyler choked on what he assumed was supposed to be a laugh before it died on his tongue. "I'll be back before you can say 'Tyler's an idiot,'" he forced out in a quivering voice.

Josh, lying flat on his back, wiped away the tear sliding down his cheek. He listened to Tyler's footstep get fainter and fainter until there was only the sound of the fire hissing and popping.

"Tyler's an idiot," he whispered to himself.

Two hours passed.

Josh could hear Mark and Michael's incessant muttering from his spot in the tent. They were failing spectacularly at keeping quiet. "He should've been back by now," Josh heard Mark say. His voice was scared. "Be patient," Michael snapped back. "And be quiet. You're gonna wake up Josh."

Josh found it bitterly hilarious that they really thought he'd be able to sleep without Tyler there. They'd been sleeping pressed close together for six months. Even now, in the heated nights of June, Josh still found himself shifting toward Tyler in his sleep. Even if the extra heat was unbearable, he needed that comfort, the solace in knowing his best friend was there, just inches away, if he needed him.

And now Tyler was gone, maybe forever. And Josh hadn't even bothered to get off his ass and give him one last hug.

Josh wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and yell and slap Tyler across the face for leaving him. How dare he beg Josh not to leave and then do it himself? Hypocritical asshole. Silent tears were streaming down his cheeks. His throat couldn't be bothered to force out a single noise, but his eyes were indifferent. They refused to stop pumping out the fat, salty tears that left the skin of his face sticky and raw.

His stitches throbbed. His flesh had grown an angry red surrounding the wound in retaliation of the intrusion. Josh wished he could remember the biting, pinching nips of the needle more than the fingernails that had softly scratched at his scalp, more than Tyler's whispering broken promises as he cradled his face in his soft hands.

Josh wanted to punch Tyler in the face and then bury his nose in his shoulder, fist his t-shirt in his hands, hold him against his body and cry and cry and cry.

But he couldn't do any of that. Because Tyler was gone. His stupid idiot of a best friend was gone.

And he never said goodbye.

Josh dragged himself over to Tyler's side of the tent. He snatched Tyler's pillow and held it against his face, prepared to scream with all of his energy, force out all of the pent-up sadness and anger and bitter emptiness thrumming in his veins out into the soft fabric. He breathed in deeply from his nose to prepare his scream.

The pillow smelled of Tyler.

Instead of the blood-curdling scream he'd planned, out of his lips fell a heart-wrenching sob. He curled his arms around the pillow and wailed meekly into it. He didn't know if Mark or Michael could hear him; he didn't know whether he cared if they did or not. Turning on his side pulled at his stitches, but he didn't care. He cradled the pillow to his chest, crying like a child who'd been told they'd be getting no ice cream. No, like a child who'd been told their best friend was most likely dead and never coming back because their best friend was an absolute _idiot_ —

"Tyler! Thank God!"

Josh was pulled from his pity party by the utter relief in Michael's voice. He sniffled, peeking out of the pillow's embrace to the tent flap. "Tyler, what did you—hey, where are you going?"

Josh's heart leaped into his mouth when he heard the tent flap unzip. Tyler stepped inside, cuts and scrapes lining the soft skin of his cheeks, but a beaming smile split his face in two. He held a bottle out in front of him and wiggled it in Josh's direction with a laugh.

"I got you sunscreen!"

Josh was stock-still for a split second before struggling to his feet. He turned to face Tyler, who was still smiling at him.

Josh punched Tyler in the face, then buried his nose in his shoulder, fisted his t-shirt in his hands, and held him against his body while he cried and cried and cried.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, instead of burnt, crimson skin, Josh gained a splatter of freckles across his back and shoulders. They peppered his cheekbones and smeared themselves along his arms. Tyler had managed to steal supplies for a good two to three weeks if rationed properly. Mark and Michael cheered for his selflessness while he worked on mending his relationship with Josh.

"Josh, I'm sorry. You know I had to—"

"Don't give me that. Don't give me that _shit_. You cried to me about leaving you then you did it yourself. Do you have any idea how worried I was? When you saw that arrow in my side, what did you feel?"

Tyler swallowed, recalling the cold shock of terror that struck him to his very core. "Terrified. Frozen. In disbelief, then it... it sunk in. That I could've... I-I could've lost you."

Josh narrowed his eyes and jabbed a finger into Tyler's chest. He still had the blackberry bruise on his cheek from Josh's punch. "Yeah? Well, I felt that for two _hours_ , Tyler. I wasn't even sure if you—" His voice cracked. "I wasn't sure you were even going to come back."

Tyler held Josh tight those nights. Even when they became shiny with sweat, it hurt too much to be separated. Both of them needed to have the comfort of the other's touch to fall into a restful sleep. When they walked, sometimes they'd link pinkies, shy, bashful smiles resting on their pink cheeks. Mark would roll his eyes to Michael and gag. Michael would shake his head with a fond smile and mouth, "Leave them be."

The wound in Josh's side healed into a jagged, white scar a couple inches above his right hip bone. "That looks so punk rock," Tyler said in a serious voice, making Josh burst into a fit of laughter. "Punk rock?" Josh repeated with a snicker.

"Yeah! The zombie chicks will dig you. All you're missing are the tats and the dyed hair."

"Yeah?" Josh asked with a grin. Tyler grinned back, bigger. "Hell yeah! Who says you can't start a band in the zombie apocalypse, huh? I'd like to see them try and stop us from _owning_ the barren countrysides and abandoned cities. Rural Ohio, Twenty One Pilots is coming for you!" Tyler hooted and whooped only to impress Josh, only to see the blissful smile decorate his usually sullen features, only to hear his harmonious laugh grace his unworthy ears and dance across the empty landscape.

It was days like these they wondered if they could really do. If they could not just survive, but _live_. They didn't need a band or a fancy house or any of the accessories. They had each other; they lived for each other. That could've been enough.

And then it all went to hell.

Josh still had the scar from that arrow six months later. He unconsciously traced it through his shirt with a single finger and a ghost of a smile as he watched Tyler pace in the cellar.

Tyler sniffed then turned to Josh, simply staring. He cocked his head slightly. Josh noticed that, after the bite, Tyler's pupils began to dilate profusely, getting wider and wider as days went on. Now, they had almost consumed his iris completely, making his eyes an eerie black; nothing but a thin ring of toffee remained. 

"They've all given up on you, Ty," Josh murmured, crouching down to eye level. "But I know you're still in there," Josh muttered, clenching his fists. "I know it."

Tyler looked up and squinted at Josh's broad figure in the dark. "Fr-freeee-freeeend-fr—" he slurred out, and Josh's eye lit up. "That's right," he exclaimed excitedly. " _Friend_ , that's me. I'm your friend, Tyler, your best friend. Through thick and thin, that's what I promised you."

"Freeeeee- _fren—_ " Tyler cut himself off with a mighty cough, hacking violently. Josh took his momentary distraction as his chance to quickly kneel on the ground and loop the muzzle around Tyler's face, knotting it tight around the back of his skull. Tyler made an irritated sound, and Josh made sure he was out of range when he let out a blood-curdling screech, lunging for Josh while clawing uselessly at the metal grill around his mouth and nose.

"You know the rules, bud. No walks without your muzzle. Just wait a bit, and we'll be out soon."

When Tyler finally calmed down, Josh crawled forward slowly, unlocking the wrist shackle and clipping the leash to the back of his muzzle. "Up we go; c'mon," Josh encouraged, making sure to stay a safe distance away and tugging gently on the leash. Tyler stumbled to his feet, growling low under his breath.

Josh careful lead his best friend up the stairs and through the house. Mark and Michael had abandoned the den, so it was remarkably easier to tug Tyler outside.

Once outside, the chilly air struck Tyler, and he let out a content huff, sniffing curiously. Food?

"This way, Tyler, c'mon."

Tyler blinked at the man in front of him, drool dripping from the corners of his mouth. _Food!_

No! Friend. Josh friend.

_Foooood!_ the voice hissed again. Tyler shook his head violently, snarling and trying to claw at his ears, but the muzzle blocked them from harm. He was pulled away from his tantrum by a soft tugging at his neck. Hissing, he turned to the culprit. He stood there with a calm demeanor and a commanding posture. Like he truly believed Tyler would never hurt him.

_Food._ the voice spat. _Kill food_.

"Tyler," Josh called in a stern voice.

Tyler ignored the voice and slinked up to Josh's side, back slouched and arms hanging forward. Josh smiled at him. "Good job, buddy," he praised. Tyler let out what sounded like a content grunt.

Josh friend.

The voice hissed in his ear.

He lurched along next to Josh until his nose twitched. _Food._ He scrambled forward, yanking on his chain until it was practically choking him. "Easy, easy," Josh calmed. "You smell something?"

Food. _Food._ Food.

Tyler let out a yowling sound, hands swinging out in front of him. He could smell it. Meaty flesh, warm blood. Something big and juicy.

_Food!_ Food! _Food!_ Food!

Josh slowly walked forward, keeping a tight grip on the chain as Tyler dragged him in the direction of the smell, whimpering and clawing at the air.

They both saw it at the same time. A young stag was grazing in the tall weeds sprouting at the base of a few tree stumps. Its ears flicked back and forth as it chewed on its grass without a care in the world, stamping a foot to rid it of bugs. In an instant, Tyler crouched low, his eyes narrowed on his prey. He turned from blundering nuisance to dangerous, vicious predator. Josh ever so carefully unclipped the chain from Tyler's neck.

Freed from his leash, Tyler stalked through the grass with dark and hungry eyes. He was within striking distance in seconds, deadly silent. The poor deer could do nothing to prevent Tyler from springing from his hiding spot and sinking his fingers into its hide. With the muzzle around his mouth, his primary weapon was brute force. The animal bucked and shrieked in panic, but Tyler had his fingers wrapped tight around its throat and his bare toes digging tightly into its sides. He shook the deer's head back and forth wildly as it screamed and fought for its life. There was a sickening snap, and the animal collapsed to the ground, neck broken, dead. Unchewed grass lay on its lolled, still pink tongue.

Tyler immediately began to feast, pulling flesh from its bones and stuffing it through the bars of his muzzle, tilting his head back so the meat could fall into his mouth. Josh quickly looked away, sickened by the sight. The squelching and slurping were enough for him to tinge green, he didn't need to visuals along with the audio. When Tyler was finished, he let out a crude belch and grumbled happily to himself as he licked his fingers clean of blood, still kneeling among the remains of the stag.

"This way, Tyler," Josh called, voice wavering. Tyler looked up at Josh, blinking in the low lighting of the evening sun.

Josh friend.

Tyler struggled to his feet but limped over to Josh's side after managing to stand. Josh reclipped his leash and had little problem leading Tyler back into the house and down into the cellar while the man was letting out satisfied little grumbles, happy with his full belly.

Josh swallowed thickly as he re-chained Tyler's wrist and unclipped the leash. The other man slumped against the wall and slid to the floor with a huff, smacking his lips. He scratched at his face with his bony fingers, scraping off blood and skin from his cheek.

Josh shakily got to his feet and watched Tyler shuffle mindlessly in his corner, grunting and mumbling to himself.

"You'll be okay," Josh whispered. He couldn't be sure if he was talking to Tyler or himself. "We'll be okay," he mumbled, as he turned to exit the cellar. He numbly closed and locked the door behind him. "It'll all be okay in the end."

When Josh reached the top of the steps, Mark was waiting for him. "Move," he gruffed out. He was blocking the doorway. "Josh, this has to stop," Mark commanded, attempting to hold his head high and his shoulders back. Josh pushed past him with ease and a scoff, making the man trip backward.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, Mark," Josh said calmly. He was on his way back upstairs to his bedroom when he was met with Michael, arms crossed and face cold, blocking the staircase. Josh grit his teeth. " _Move_ ," he said again, voice low, a threat. Michael stood his ground, and he had the muscle Mark didn't to back himself up. "We're going to talk about this whether you want to or not," he explained, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

"There's nothing to talk about," Josh scoffed. "You want to kill my best friend; I'm not going to let you, end of story."

"That is not the _'end of the story_.' You almost shooting Mark? Threatening us? This isn't you, Josh."

"Isn't me?" Josh gave a bitter laugh. " _Isn't me?_ You don't know jack _shit!_ " he spat. He stepped up to Michael, eyes narrowed into menacing slits. He jammed his index finger into Michael's chest, hard. "I. Will not. Let you. Kill him." Each pause was punctuated with another hard jab to Michael's sternum.

"You already managed that yourself," Mark muttered, leaning against the door to the cellar.

"Mark!" Michael gasped.

Josh stopped. He looked over his shoulder, tightened like a tension wire. He turned around and stalked over to Mark, hurling his fist straight into his face. The other man staggered back, slamming into the wall behind him.

Mark spat out a tooth and wiped the blood from his face. "Fine," he said, slow, dark. His icy glare met Josh's livid snarl. "I can play this game too." A year's worth of tension snapped in an instance.

Michael could only get out a frantic, "Don't—!" before Mark lunged and clipped a blow to the side of Josh's head. He faltered but righted himself fast enough to catch Mark's next punch, yanking hard on his fist to pull him forward and jab his knee, mercilessly powerful, into the man's stomach.

Mark keeled over with a retch, and Josh landed an uppercut to his jaw, flinging him across the room. Josh's face was cold, detached, bitter as he stepped forward. Anger boiled in his veins, pumping through his system in a white-hot rage. Mark let out shaky, gasping breaths, watching Josh stalk toward him from his collapsed position on the wooden floor.

"Enough! _Enough!_ " Michael begged, flinging himself between them, hands planted firmly on Josh's chest.

"It'll be enough when Mark learns to keep his fucking mouth shut!" Josh hissed, pushing against Michael's weight.

"Mark's an imbecile, I know. Just, Josh, for God's sake, stop and think for a second. We all need to calm down."

Josh looked over Michael's shoulder, his chest heaving with heavy inhales. He began to ease back when Mark let out a cough, struggling to pull himself into a sitting position.

"He was our friend too," he coughed. "Stop acting like you're some sort of tortured savior."

Josh let out a snarl, pushing forward. "Mark," Michael warned. "Shut up the hell up."

"No, I won't. This asshole needs to learn that Tyler is _dead_. He's not the only one who lost a friend. Tyler was my friend too. But that Tyler is dead; he's _gone_ , Josh. Downstairs in the cellar is a shell, a monster in Tyler's skin. Let it go."

"Keep talking, Mark!" Josh roared, throwing himself past Michael who gripped his arms and dragged him back with a wheeze. "Keep talking and give me a reason to wipe your shitstain of an existence off the earth!" he screamed, struggling in Michael's grip. Josh pulled forward like a bull, kicking hard in Mark's direction. He landed a weak kick to the man's hip who thumped against the wall with a pained gasp.

"Just admit it," Mark whispered, eyelashes fluttering as blood pooled from his nose. "We all know what you two had, Josh."

"Mark!" Michael yelled, struggling to hold Josh at bay. "Shut! The hell! Up!" But Mark wasn't done. He stared at Josh with a split lip, drooping eyelid, and the ghost of a smile.

"We all know you were in l—"

With a mighty scream, Josh yanked from Michael's hold and kicked Mark in the side of the head. The man's skull banged hard against the floor, and his eyes lolled, passing out.

Michael let out a gasp, pulling hard on Josh's shoulder until he wavered back. "What the fuck, Josh?!" he yelled.

"You said this isn't me, yeah? You wanted the 'real' me so bad? _Take him!_ You're looking at him, asshole!" Josh seethed, gesturing his arms out wide. His left eye was starting to swell from Mark's punch, and his breathing was erratic from the adrenaline still coursing through his blood. Michael gave him a strange look, somewhere between shock and furious sorrow.

"Get the hell off me," Josh growled, shaking off Michael's hand from his shoulder. It fell limply at his side, and Michael gave Josh one final shake of his head, his lips pursed, before turning and kneeling to check on Mark.

Josh stormed upstairs, slamming his door behind him. He seethed silently, furiously for all of three seconds before screaming, turning to his right and tipping over the decaying dresser. He kicked a moldy, wooden chair sitting in the corner and it splintered before hitting the wall and clattering to the ground in broken pieces. He ran through his room like a hurricane, attacking the furniture and kicking the walls. When he was finished, he stood in the center of the destroyed room, panting. With a strangled cry, he ran to the wall and punched clean through the old, rotting wood.

He immediately pulled back with a howl, clutching his broken and bleeding knuckles to his chest. Tears prickled in corners of his eyes, but he shook them away. Stumbling to the bed, he knelt by its side, searching through the drawer of the nightstand he had tipped over, which was splayed out on the floor. He pulled out a roll of medical tape and carefully wrapped his knuckles, wincing at each pull and tug of his bruised skin.

He'd wrapped Tyler's knuckles like this the first month into the infection. One of their traps had failed, and they'd lost a rabbit; he'd been so frustrated he punched a tree, crying out in pain afterward. "Moron," Josh had scolded him, gently unrolling the tape and wrapping it around his not-yet-calloused hands. "This isn't Minecraft, you know." Tyler had let out a snort before flinching. "Ow, ow, _dude!_ Not so tight!" he had whined. Josh had smacked his other hand away lightly when he tried to get in the way. "It has to be tight—and stop complaining when it's your own damn fault." When he'd finished, he had pulled Tyler's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles with a goofy grin. "There," he'd said with a smile, laughing at the crinkle of Tyler's nose and blooming peony pink on his cheeks. "All better."

Josh stared at his knuckles with blurry vision, tears pouring from his eyes and down his cheeks as he wrapped them. "Moron," he said to himself. "Moron, moron, moron." Josh pulled himself to his feet and fell onto the bed when he was done. There were two pillows at the head of his mattress, one of them was never used. He turned onto his stomach and buried his face into the one on the left side.

It no longer smelled of Tyler.

_"We all know you were in l—"_

It was then he finally let the croaking, heartbroken sounds escape his chapped, split lips. He gripped the pillow in his unbroken hand and screamed and screamed and screamed.

* * *

It happened on Josh's birthday.

And on that fated day in June, all his hopes that maybe they could make it, maybe he didn't actually mind this life as long as he had Tyler, the universe looked at those hopes and gave a hearty chuckle, saying, "I don't think so."

Josh bashed the butt of his gun against a zombie's skull; the brain matter and other bodily fluids splattered across his shirt. "Gross," he whined. Tyler laughed at him while stuffing the barrel of his pistol in a zombie's mouth and firing. They both watched the body crumple to the ground with a weak gurgle.

They'd been goofing off while hunting. The horde they'd encountered was small, and their guard was down as they fired jokes at one another while firing bullets at the undead. Michael and Mark were a short, five-minute walk North at basecamp.

"Happy birthday to me, am I right? I mean, seriously, am I right? I think today is the 19th of June... Ah, who cares, time is a human construct anyway," Josh shrugged. Tyler snorted out, "Dude." while jamming his elbow through a zombie's skull.

"Besides, is 23 really that big of a milestone? I mean, at 18 you can have sex, and at 21 you drink, but at 23? All you can do is have more people tell you that you missed your window of opportunity to be in a band. That is a strictly teenager only phase, once you pass 19, people actually realize, 'Oh, damn. This poor guy actually thinks he can make it?'"

Tyler gave another laugh, loud and melodic. It always amazed Josh how he could keep his laughs so genuine and carefree during such an awful time, but then again, he was the one smiling like a goofy idiot because he could still make his best friend laugh.

"23 is just another number, huh? Not good enough for you?" Tyler teased. The hoard was now just a harmless heap of peeling skin and brittle bones scattered around them. Tyler holstered his gun and stretched his arms above his head. "Just think of it this way, you're another year closer to de—"

Josh saw the zombie a split second too late, hiding in the shadows of the trees. "Tyler! Behind you!" he yelled. Josh watched in slow motion as Tyler's face went white, drained of color, his eyes widened in pure terror, and he turned in time for the zombie to let out a slobbering growl and fall on top of him.

Tyler screamed.

Josh fumbled with his pistol as Tyler struggled with the monster. Josh emptied the remaining five rounds of his gun into the zombie's head with shaking hands. His heartbeat was a buzzing drone in his ear as he stared numbly at Tyler shoving the limp, dead body off of his chest from where it had collapsed on him with a disgusted sound. Josh couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet, but he was vaguely aware of his body rushing toward Tyler and falling to his knees.

"Tyler! Oh my God, are you okay?" he gasped out. Josh brought his hands out to check for injury but hesitated with his fingers hovering over Tyler's chest when he saw the blank stare on Tyler's face; his hand was cupping the groove of flesh between his neck and left shoulder. He looked stunned, his lips still parted with his eyes unmoving and unfocused, gaping at the sky.

"Tyler?" Josh asked, quiet, hesitant, nervous.

"Josh," Tyler whispered, his voice barely audible. Supporting his weight on his right elbow, he turned, slow, silent, scared, and pulled his hand away.

There, on the junction of his shoulder, was a bite.

Shock flooded Josh's system. And the perfect, little world he'd convinced himself was possible, the world where things might actually be okay, where he might _live_ , not just survive, the world with laughter and jokes and fleeting but powerful moments of pure joy, the world with Tyler, was swiped from his grasp and thrown to the ground, shattering into sharp,vicious, cutting shards of disappointment.

"Josh," Tyler said again. He couldn't will the tears to his eyes, couldn't feel anything but the throbbing, chilling numbness seeping into his bones. Josh was shaking his head. "No."

There, at that moment, a seed was planted in Josh's brain. It was a seemingly innocent sprout, a sprout of stubborn determination, of fierce, unwavering loyalty, of refusal to accept reality, of blatant disregard of the obvious. Unaware of the parasitic plant now growing in his brain, Josh pulled Tyler close to him, cradling his head to his chest. Over the next six months, that sprout would grow into a thick tangle of vines wrapping around and burrowing into Josh's brain. It would choke the logic from his system, protect his thoughts from any outcome where Tyler wasn't there beside him on his journey. Nothing else mattered; nothing else existed.

That day, that bite, that sprout was the beginning of a downfall.

"You'll be okay," Josh mumbled, rocking Tyler in his lap who was still limp, his arms hanging, unmoving, at his sides.

"Josh," Tyler repeated.

"We'll be okay." It was a beg, a plea.

"Josh." Tyler's voice was hoarse.

"It'll all be okay in the end. It'll all be okay in the end. It'll all be okay in the end." Over and over as Josh rocked Tyler back and forth, back and forth. "It'll all be okay in the end."

* * *

"I can't do this, Mark." Michael's voice was hesitant.

Mark was holding a bag of ice to his temple. His lower lip was split and bruises littered his face, painting it bittersweet shades of yellow and purple. A headache pounded against the inside of his skull, unrelenting, unwavering, uncaring.

In front of him was a shotgun.

"Yeah? Well, tough shit. You don't want to do it then I will. Josh nearly killed me, it's only fair we do the same." Michael grabbed his wrist when he reached for the gun with his spare hand. "If we're doing this," he started, voice low. "it's for Tyler's sake, not so you can exact some kind of revenge on Josh."

Mark scoffed, yanking his hand from Michael's grip. "Yeah, sure. Whatever." Michael gave him a stern look, and Mark backed off. "I get it! Sheesh," he muttered.

Josh was crouched low on the staircase, listening to their conversation in the kitchen. "Like hell," he spat under his breath. "When?" he heard Michael ask. "I don't know, an hour? Whenever Josh goes to his room to cry about his _long, lost love_ he usually passes out afterward," Mark huffed; his voice lacked any sympathy.

"Don't be a dick, Mark."

"Yeah? Why not? Josh doesn't care about anything but the bag of bones in the basement. He probably would've killed me if you hadn't stopped him."

Josh wished he had. How dare he say those things about Tyler?

While the two in the kitchen planned their attack, Josh planned something of his own. He began packing his bag with the few precious belongings he owned. He snuck out to the barn where they kept their stash of supplies, the chilly Winter air whipping at his hair. The full moon cast a white light on the barren fields and the tops of the forest trees. Frost was gathering on the hard soil and it crunched underneath the soles of his boots. He stole enough rations for him to survive on for a few weeks, stuffing them in his bag along with medical supplies, ammunition, and a couple of water bottles.

He peeked out of the barn doors, making sure Mark and Michael were nowhere in sight before sneaking out into the field. Hiding among the tall weeds, Josh crouched down and unloaded his gun of the bullets and reloaded it with three blanks. A few months into their journey, they'd found a stash of blank bullets. "They're basically harmless," Mark had scoffed, waving his hand dismissively.

"Not short range," Tyler had corrected. "A blank can still pierce a skull at point blank. Plus, they're good for diversions, in case we get cornered or something. We should keep them."

Plugging one of his ears, Josh fired off two blank shots in quick succession. They were deafening in the silent, midnight wind.

He crept back to the barn and listened.

"What the hell was that?"

That was Michael, followed by the creaking of the door opening and shutting behind him. "Let's check it out. It could be a straggler." That was Mark. Josh bit back a snarl at his nasal voice. The sound of their boots crunched on the grass just as his own had.

Skilled and silent, Josh waited until they were out of earshot before slipping back into the house, hoisting his bag high on his right shoulder before quickly grabbing the keys to the cellar and Tyler's leash.

The muzzle stayed hanging on its hook. They didn't need it anymore.

Tyler stared at the wall of the cellar, his eyes dull.

_Hungry_ , the voice said. Hungry.

_Cold_ , the voice said. Cold.

_Josh food_ , it said, sounding hopeful. No. Josh friend.

_Weak!_ it hissed. _Weak, weak, weak!_ Tyler whimpered, flinching back and banging his hand to his skull. Josh friend. He repeated. It screamed at him in retaliation. Josh friend! Josh friend! He screamed back in his head.

_Josh food! Food! Food!_

The sound of hurried footsteps interrupted his internal argument. Friend? _Food?_

The lock to his door made a loud thunk when it opened. Josh peeked in, his eyes flicking back and forth nervously. Friend! Tyler perked up, shuffling to face Josh. _Food_... The voice gave a low growl.

"No time to lose; let's go," Josh hurried. Tyler noticed curiously that he did not have the cage he usually put around his face with him. He expressed that with a garbled noise that sounded moderately confused.

"No time for a muzzle, bud," he explained. He tied the leash to Tyler's wrist instead who furrowed his brows at it and shook his hand with a growl.

"Yeah, it sucks; you hate me. We need to move; c'mon."

Josh unclipped his wrist shackle and tugged anxiously at the leash, pulling Tyler, who stumbled to his feet. He hissed furiously, staggering forward and swiping his hand at Josh's face. Josh predicted the aggression and walked backward coaxing Tyler to follow him up the stairs. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Josh muttered under his breath. Each frantic pull on the leash resulted in an angrier and angrier noise from Tyler's mouth.

_Josh food! Josh food!_

Josh... food?

Tyler watched with bleary, blinking eyes. He noticed for the first time the swell of Josh's left eye, shaded a splotchy violet, the panicked look on his face as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, and how his head flicked back and forth between Tyler and the dark stairwell behind him.

No. Josh friend. Josh friend.

_Weak, weak, weak!_ Over and over. Tyler thrashed his head back and forth, nearly tripping down the stairs. He growled and clawed mercilessly at his ears, gathering blood beneath his broken fingernails.

"None of that, Tyler. Don't-don't hurt yourself like that," Josh begged, his voice sounded weak and far away. Tyler banged against the wall of the stairwell with a snarling whimper, but the drag against his wrist was unwavering, yanking, yanking, yanking him up the stairs.

Finally, they reached the landing. Josh was nearly dragging Tyler behind him, breathing heavily. He pulled Tyler through the front door, and both of them shivered violently when the Winter wind bit into their skin. Josh wrapped the scarf hanging loosely on his shoulder around his mouth with one hand. Steady, steaming puffs of breath escaped his nose. Tyler watched in fascination as they spiral into the air before dissipating in a hazy cloud.

It was snowing.

Tyler's bare toes had gone numb a long, long time ago; the bone of his right pinky toe was visible through his decaying flesh. Still, the frost on the dead grass sent cold, numbing waves up his legs. He swiped at a glitter of snow, trailing along wherever the tug on his wrist told him to. There were trees around them now, skinny and bare; Tyler knocked into one accidentally.

He let out a curious growl when he picked up the smell of food behind him, stalling to sniff curiously. "No time for stopping. I can't let them get to you," Josh explained breathlessly. His hands and ears were red from the cold, but he continued to pull Tyler along behind him. There was the sudden sound of angry, confused yelling back at the house, and Josh cursed under his breath.

"Jig's up," he muttered to himself. "Time to pick up the pace."

Tyler was yanked when Josh started a light jog. He yowled in irritation while floundering behind, trying to keep from falling to his bruised knees.

A gunshot sounded.

Tyler felt a breeze against his cheek then a slight sting, but it was Josh who cried out, tripping and falling to his knees with a gasp. "Shit," he gritted out, clutching his right shoulder where the bullet had clipped him. He struggled to his feet, still trying to lead Tyler away from Mark and Michael, away from the danger, away from his death. He leaned on a tree for support, hissing out through clenched teeth and taking his hand away. Blood was soaking his stinging, frozen hands.

Tyler's nose twitched.

_Food. Food. Food._ The voice didn't need to scream this time, it was loud enough for Tyler's eyes to flutter, falling toward the intoxicating smell of blood, of meat, of Josh.

No. He tried to fight it. N-no. Josh... Josh friend.

_Josh. Food_.

"Tyler," Josh croaked out, pushing away from the tree and collapsing to his knees. He was panting; the scarf had fallen away, revealing the quiver of his lips. His breath misted the air with every exhale. "Tyler, please. Run," Josh whispered out, still clutching his shoulder, Tyler's leash lying limply in the other rested on the brown earth. Snowflakes clumped his eyelashes together, his cheeks an angry red. His eyes were shut, eyelids squeezed together and eyebrows knit with pain.

Tyler watched the crimson oozing from between his fingertips, coating his fingers, leaving them sticky, metallic.

"Tyler." Josh's voice was a sob. "Go. Run. They'll kill you. _Please_ , just go." It was then Josh looked up and saw the starved look in the other man's eyes. "Tyler...?"

Tyler limped forward. Josh's eyes widened.

"It's me." Frantic, delirious, desperate. "It's me, Josh. Friend, remember? Josh, your best friend. Friend, Tyler, _friend_."

Tyler limped another step. Josh dragged himself back weakly. His hands burned from the icy wind. Struggling to right himself, his empty hand landed on his pistol, a heavy weight on his hip. With trembling fingers, he clutched it to his chest. "Don't make me do this," he begged. "Tyler, please, _God_ , don't make me." His tears fell like frozen crystals across his cheeks.

Tyler limped again. The ring of brown in his eyes was gone, leaving an empty, ravenous black in its place.

Josh held up his gun, pointed at Tyler. His hands quivered violently. "Ty, please, _please_ ," he sobbed. " _I love you._ "

Tyler gave a pause and tilted his head. Josh watched with a watery gaze as his pupils swelled and dilated like he was struggling to focus on something. "Tyler?" he tried again. His voice was laced with a tiny amount of hope. Tyler let out a sound, dazed, confused. "Frr... _Fffff_..."

"Friend!" Josh gasped, his voice hysterical. "That's right, Tyler! Fr-fr-friend!" His lips were going blue from blood loss and the cold. He tried to sit up. Snow was beginning to stick to the frosted weeds.

_Food_. Friend. _Food_. Frrr... friend... _Food. Food. Food._

"Ffff..." Tyler's tongue wavered. He looked at Josh and blinked. " _Food_ ," he whispered out.

Tyler lunged. Josh's finger twitched on his trigger. A gunshot echoed off of the trees.

Tyler's body crumpled to the ground at Josh's feet, his head resting against one of his boots, face down. Josh's gun was smoking.

Josh screamed.

And he screamed, and he screamed, and he screamed.

Josh crawled to Tyler's body, limp and cold, his gun abandoned in the dirt. Tyler's hair was still shifting delicately in the breeze. Josh babbled nonsense and useless apologies with tears streaming down his cheeks, pulling Tyler's body to rest in his lap while he rocked Tyler's head in his freezing arms. "I'm sorry," he wailed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

His gun, however, resting on the ground behind him, had contained no bullets, only a single blank.

Josh croaked out a gasped noise when teeth sunk into his bleeding shoulder. Tears dripped silently down his chin, and on his face, his mouth was parted in shock and his eyes were widened and fearful. A wounded whimper fell from his lips and fluttered to the ground when Tyler tightened his jaw and tore the flesh clean from his shoulder with the turn of his head.

The pain was unbearable, yet a whimper was all he could manage.

Tyler stared up at him, Josh's own blood coating his cracked lips and hungry tongue. He swallowed greedily.

"This all could've been avoided, Josh."

Ten feet in front of them was Mark wielding a double-barrelled shotgun. Michael stood behind him with a sick expression. "But no, you just _had_ to be the troubled hero," Mark sighed coldly. No remorse, no sympathy.

Josh looked at them. His skin was numb from cold, or perhaps, something else. He directed his attention to Tyler, who was still lying unmoving on his lap but blinking up at him with emotionless, black eyes. Josh stroked his decaying cheek gently with a trembling hand.

"Hey, Ty," Josh murmured. "Your birthday was a week ago, I think," he whispered, his thumb brushing the flaking skin of Tyler's face delicately. "December 1st. Y-you're 23 now; sorry to tell you that it's a pretty b-boring age. It's, j-just another number, just another year closer to... cl-closer to..." He trailed off with a wet hiccup. Mark and Michael watched the exchange silently.

"You'll be okay," Josh promised, curling over Tyler to protect him. He cupped Tyler's face to his chest and closed his eyes. The snowflakes on Josh's eyelashes kissed the swell of his cheekbones. "We'll be okay," he assured, a weak smile quivering on his face. A teardrop slipped off his chin and landed on Tyler's nose. "It'll all be okay in the end."

Mark cocked his gun.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween ;)
> 
> ______
> 
> NOTE: I am turning in this piece of writing to the Scholastic Writing and Art Competition. I claim that this piece was written and belongs to ELIZABETH K. (me) and that I am turning in the work above to the competition with minor edits, such as changes to the main characters' names and other minute details.


End file.
